When I was still quite young, I was offered the chance to spend several weeks in the South of France. My Uncle was going to drive me down in his vintage MG sports car. There would be sun, sand and, crucially, French girls.

So,
when I was about 15 or so, I was doing a Sunday morning paper round, getting up every week at 6.45 to trudge around carrying a heavy bag for little pay. Now, this story takes place in the winter, when it was still pitch black other than street lights at this time in the morning. On my way down, I find that I'm walking behind another a fairly pretty girl of about my age, who I recognise as another delivery agent. Not wanting to startle her, I stay some distance behind.

A couple of minutes later, I espy a gang of obviously intoxicated youths of about 18 or 19 stumbling along on the other side of the road. They've obviously seen this girl, and I speed up, sensing some sort of unpleasantness. Sure enough, as they get closer, they start shouting stupid, drunken remarks about what they would like to do with her, mostly involving what they describe as "9 inch hard ones". Yeah, right. I have just about caught up at this time, and can see that she is not taking it well. She is shaking, walking very fast, almost in tears.

Walking alongside, I make sure she knows that I am there, and she recognises me. She mutters a few words of contempt about the idiots across the road, but is obviously still upset and embarassed by the whole thing. But do I do anything? Comfort her? Maybe put my hand on her shoulder? Say any soothing words? No, I act like an moron and just walk there alongside her.

She quit her round that day.

What I regret is not doing something, anything at all, to let her know that she was not by herself, to make her feel a little bit better. It does not sound like a big thing now, but to her at the time it obviously was - she was nearly crying, and I never saw her again. I wish that I had in some way lessened the blow.